


Excerpts

by WenchicusThoticus



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Angry Sex, Bathroom Sex, Begging, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Crying, Cunnilingus, Deepthroating, Doggy Style, Dominatrix, Double Penetration, Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Face-Fucking, Femdom, Fisting, Gags, Hand Jobs, Hotel Sex, Infidelity, Knifeplay, Older Woman/Younger Man, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Behavior, Punishment, Revenge, Rough Sex, Torture, Trans Female Character, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2019-09-12 01:47:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16863922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WenchicusThoticus/pseuds/WenchicusThoticus
Summary: Some smutty excerpts from my original works. They weren't doing any good just sitting in a word document so here they are. More tags will be added as more chapters are posted.





	1. Well of Souls Scene 1

**Author's Note:**

> M/F, dominant woman, dubious consent. In the larger context of the novel, some characters have the ability to sense others' emotions, so there are some references to that. Text has been edited so it makes sense as a one-shot.

Most people viewed giving a blowjob as an act of submission. However, most people were idiots. Sucking a man off was the most power you could have over him. Especially if there was nothing he could do to stop you; say that for instance, his hands were tied and you had a weapon readily at your disposal. Then the greatest pleasure could easily become the greatest torture.

Ingrid had decided to be merciful on Ian, which meant binding his forearms as not to irritate his already inflamed wrists, tender and red from the previous nights. They’d arrived in town late in the evening and rented out a cabin on the beach. Of course, the city was a popular and pricey tourist destination, so they’d settled for the shoddiest one available. The rickety wooden shitshack had holes in the roof and was looked like it would collapse if subjected to so much as a slight breeze, not to mention that it didn’t smell quite right. And it was small. Goddamn small.

The selling point was that it was cheap, yes — but also remote. Despite the thin walls and their copious holes, no one was around to hear them. Ingrid knelt before Ian, just as she’d had him do with her. It had been only two days, but ordering him to give her head so frequently had gotten old quickly, and she needed something new to work with. 

Now, all unpacked for their indefinite stay, Ingrid had him undress. She couldn’t say that she was disappointed with what she saw, but then again, she hadn’t been expecting much to begin with. He was willowy and pale beneath his baggy clothes, just a scattering of hair dusting his chest and a treasure trail that drew her gaze down below his waist. She’d been anticipating a small cock, but his was a pleasantly surprising average-to-large size. He squirmed uncomfortably under her inspection and shrunk away when she reached around his waist to tie his hands.

“Sit down,” she ordered.

Ingrid’s skills with men were rusty after remaining sexually exclusive to her mistress for so long. She couldn’t say that she was glad to be back, but she could say that she was glad that her lord was not the one seated in front of her, legs open and waiting.

Ian’s fear was peaking when she first reached out to stroke his flaccid cock, and as he hardened under her touch, it shot up to levels that she’d sensed from him only when he’d literally been at gunpoint.

“Has anyone ever given you a blowjob, Ian?” she asked tonelessly.

“N-n… yes,” he stammered.

“Don’t lie to me, Ian. I can tell when you’re not telling the truth.”

“N-no. Never,” he corrected himself.

“Are you a virgin, Ian?”

“No. I’m n-not.”

“Not much experience, I presume. Who have you been with?” She cupped his balls in her free hand while the other continued to work his cock.

“Sh-she moved away. I, I haven’t seen her in a, a few years.”

“What’s your age, Ian? I’m getting the sense that what I’m doing here is wrong on more than one level.”

“I’m — I’m twenty-two,” he sputtered. His breath quickened when she started to stroke him with both hands.

“Well, that makes me feel like a bit of a cougar. Not that I’m old, mind you. The good news about your age is that you still have time to grow up. Not much, but I’m sure that after spending some time on the road with me, you’ll come out on the other side as a stronger man.” She paused. It was difficult to recall what she’d been trying to say when all she could sense was his panic. “Would you quit being afraid? I told you, it makes it hard to think. Relax, Ian. You’re going to enjoy this.”

His whole body shuddered when she finally took his cock into her mouth, tonguing the tip, then the head, then making her way down the rest of the shaft. Ian’s fear was quickly dissipating, which was a blessed side effect because she had almost forgotten what it was like to live without his incessant emotions as background noise.

Ingrid couldn’t remember the last time she’d been in a normal relationship. One that involved mutual feelings and wasn’t just sex. But sex was power, and it was the power that she knew best. She couldn’t navigate a political arena or organize a siege, but she could make people unravel at her touch. Make them beg her for release. Degrade them.

She opened her eyes and looked up to see Ian’s head thrown back, mouth hanging open, tied hands kneading at the thin mattress below him. Ingrid slid his cock in and out between her lips, and against her better judgment, decided to test out her gag reflex. She let his cock rest in the back of her throat, gagging slightly, as it had been a while since she’d last attempted this. Once she took him up to the root, he thrusted into her mouth erratically, uncontrollably, as best he could beneath her firm grip holding him down on the bed.

Ian’s fear had entirely gone, and he was lost in the swirl of sexual ecstasy, probably getting far better service than he’d ever gotten from either his hand or a woman. His breathing had been heavy before, little noises escaping him, but now he unmistakably yowled at her display of deepthroating.

She sensed his climax approaching, building, and pulled away. The waves of pleasure rolling off of him mixed with confusion, then distress.

“You like that?” she asked, leaning back and smirking.

She knew he had a question that he was too afraid to put forward, but she refused to say it for him. A thought passed over her — as much as she was enjoying the power trip, his pathetic nature disgusted her. To torment him would only weaken and damage him further, but she’d just minutes earlier said that she could make him a stronger man. 

Whether that trait would naturally develop on the road or if she would have to foster it in him herself, she was unsure. But she could mold him, shape him however she wanted. He was her test subject in her experiment on power. What she did to him she could do to anyone else who happened to fall on the wrong side of her.

Stripping, she let Ian see her fully naked body for the first time. She gave him only a moment to absorb it before she knelt to suck him once more. His relief flooded her system, and when he was about to come, she drew away again.

“You will earn it,” she decreed. She seized a clump of his hair and dragged him from the bed, and they switched positions. He no longer had to be told what to do and started on her right away. He’d grown more confident in only a few days, hitting the right spot and adjusting his motions based on her wordless reactions. She let him kneel there in front of her, one hand cupping the back of his head and pressing it closer, the other stroking his neck. Then, she reached over him to where the rope clasped his arms together and undid the knot. 

“Enough.”

He looked up, bewildered. “Yes?” he whimpered, barely audible. He tentatively rubbed his freed arms.

“Don’t grovel. You can do what I say and still maintain some level of self-respect. If you had any in the first place.”

He only nodded.

“What did I say about responding to me?”

“To speak,” he whispered almost as pitifully.

“That’s right. Now,” she said, lying back in bed, legs dangling off the side. “Fuck me.”

He looked at her like she’d just spoken German to him. They didn’t have Germany in their universe, which meant that it was extra confusing.

“Fuck me,” she repeated slowly. “Do you not understand?” When he still said nothing, she continued, “Sexual intercourse. It’s when you put your penis in my vagina. Are you familiar with the concept?”

He nodded, and then winced and corrected himself. “Y-yes, but… I… Aren’t you… aren’t you supposed to… do it with…?”

“With someone you love?” she finished. She let out a single bark of laughter. “Not where I come from.” There was no point in forcing him to go any further; she’d pushed him far enough. “You’ll get to orgasm,” she offered lazily. “You’ll get your release.”

Surprisingly, it had the intended effect. Slowly but surely, he aligned himself with her cunt, and Ingrid found herself more delighted than she would’ve liked to admit. Ian wasn’t the only one who needed to come.

He glanced at her nervously. His cock prodded at her uncertainly as he tried to find her hole, and she raised her legs to facilitate his search. Eventually, she sat up and guided him in manually. It had been a damn long time since she’d had anything larger than a finger or two inside her, but it only took one effortless motion to fit him in.

Gently, she directed his thrusts until he got a steady rhythm going. His movements were so soft and timid that she could barely feel them, and she wondered if she could get him angry instead of scared.

“Hard, Ian. Neither of us are going to get anywhere like this,” she said. “I don’t think you want me to demonstrate what I’m expecting by fucking your ass.”

He only slowed again and started to give off frustration and hopelessness. Tears brimmed in his eyes and his motions grew listless, uncommitted. If she kept at it like this, he would retreat into the groveling self she was trying to destroy.

“You’re a grown ass adult!” she yelled. “Act like it! Fuck me like a man, not a boy! Show me there’s more to you than a pitiful whining child! Show me your strength. Prove your worth to me,” she hissed.

Ian gritted his teeth, and with tears streaking his reddening face, he shoved into her hard enough to rattle the entire bed frame. Not that it was a particularly strong or high-quality bed frame, but it was worth noting.

Ingrid grinned wildly. “You’re a man,” she continued to taunt him. “Show me what you can do. Is that it?”

Ian pulled out, only to slam her against the headboard and climb on top of her. He blindly forced his way back in, and she yelped in pain, but once he’d gotten himself properly positioned, he thrusted violently, his roughness and rage atoning for his inexperience. Their mouths were clashing against each other at one moment, then his teeth were raking her neck, digging into her earlobe; his hands grabbed at her hair, her breasts, and all the while, he was fucking her relentlessly.

Ingrid barely registered that he’d forced her onto her hands and knees. She’d already hit her first orgasm, and he showed no signs of letting up. He seized her hips and held her still against him, punishing her with more reckless strength than ever while the bed shook and squeaked in quite a worrisome manner.

Nails dug into her thighs, and she didn’t hear herself screaming as she came again and again. Finally, he roared as he reached his climax and the biting fingernails rent deeper into her flesh. He didn’t halt until his cock went limp again. He rammed her flat against the bed, trailing cum across her back as he stretched forward to whisper in her ear.

“You—” he hissed between heaving breaths, “Are— Wretched.”

He rolled off of her. Her legs were shaking and when she tried to get up on her knees, she collapsed, and he caught her. His cum dribbled down her thighs and onto the bedspread. She was still reeling from her orgasms too much to think, and curled snugly against his chest, it was almost normal for a moment.

“That was exactly what I wanted from you,” she murmured. “Didn’t that make you respect yourself a little more?”

“I, I…” he struggled for an answer.

“You took control of the situation instead of cowering like you normally do. Doesn’t it feel better?”

“But I lost control,” he said plainly. Whatever she’d coaxed out of him had already retreated. “Of myself.”

“Smart boy,” she replied. “But you were also stupid enough to call me wretched. I’ll let it go, but that was rather bold of you. You dominated instead of letting me slap you around.”

“I don’t like being angry.”

He was angry. The feeling was still radiating from him in waves. “You’re much better in bed when you’re angry.” She sighed, running a finger along his collarbone. “I don’t hate you or anything, Ian. I have greater things planned for you. Now… I’d like you to pretend that you don’t hate me. You can imagine that I’m your girl who moved away. Hold me, and this is especially important — don’t talk. Not a word.”

Outside, the waves crashed on the beach. She burrowed deeper into his narrow chest and pretended that he was someone else.


	2. Underground Empire Scene 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> male/trans female, blowjob. context has been edited so the scene makes sense as a one-shot.

Nat had a tendency to shave obsessively. The act itself angered her, but it left her feeling cleansed afterwards. Hardly any hair had grown on her cheeks but she found herself doing it again anyways. Intent on scouring every last patch of skin, she didn’t notice Lucio enter the hotel bathroom they’d been sharing.

He lingered in the doorway for a long moment, eyes raking her reflection in the mirror, her bare, muscular arms, the curve of her toned ass through the thin fabric of her pants. “Hey… I never got to thank you,” he said, and she pretended not to have been startled.

Her stomach dropped, and she cursed him internally, No! Go away, not fucking now. She put down the razor and hastily wiped the last of the shaving cream from her face. The stubble didn’t look that uneven, as she’d gone through the routine in the morning as well.

She shrugged. Turning to face him, she found herself shocked by his proximity. “No need to — it’s nothing. Just common courtesy,” she replied. Something in his gaze was disconcerting, as if he was distracted, and his words were almost empty: they were merely a script he was following in order to reach a larger goal.

“You took all the blame for me,” he countered, like it was a competition.

“Well, yeah, you would’ve lost your job, but I wouldn’t have. It’s really nothing,” she repeated. “Anyone in my position with a shred of empathy would’ve done the same.”

“I still want to thank you.” When he shut the door behind him without breaking eye contact, Nat had a feeling that “thanking” her meant a little more than a few kind words. At this point, alarm bells would be going off in just about every other woman’s head, but, with Nat’s very much male body and upbringing, she merely thought, This is really unprofessional.

“It won’t be…” she trailed off. Lucio’s hands grazed her hips and soon his smoldering eyes were only inches from hers. His fingers trailed around to her front, where he undid her pants and slipped a hand into her boxers.

Looking down for the first time, Nat was dismayed to spot a notable protrusion between her legs. Sweet mother of the queen, this is ridiculous, she thought. Am I just gonna let this happen? 

Lucio started to jerk her off with one hand while sliding her pants further down with the other. His palms were warm and dry, and against her conscious will, she felt herself lightly thrust into his grasp. “You’re so big,” he hissed in her ear whilst pumping her traitorous member.

Sadly, it was true. As if the gods were mocking her, for someone who desperately wanted to be rid of her penis, she had been bestowed with genitals that would’ve made most any man jealous.

“Uh, thanks,” she said awkwardly. “Isn’t Travis, you know, in the hallway right outside?”

“He went to the car to take a call,” Lucio whispered breathlessly into her ear. With each passing second, rational thought grew more and more difficult to maintain. His rhythm sped up, and his grip tightened around her. “We have nothing to worry about. We could take this to bed, if you want.”

“I don’t think I’m ready for that,” she said in as indifferent a tone as she could muster. “You know, we’re supposed to on a date first, and hold hands and kiss and all that shit, but here you are, giving me a handjob.” She couldn’t deny that she was enjoying this on a physical level, which just made everything even more convoluted.

“I said I wanted to thank you, didn’t —” he started, but she shoved his face into her crotch before he could finish his sentence.

Can’t get much worse, she figured.

Her hands still on top of his head, holding him down, she felt his mouth on her. Involuntarily, she gasped, but soon, however, his inexperience became clear.

“Lucio, stop biting my fucking dick,” she scolded him.

“Srory,” he said through a mouthful of manmeat, which only brought his teeth into her skin again.

“Augh! Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to speak with your mouth full?” she cried out. As he eased back with the teeth, her yelps of pain gave way to heavy panting. Her knuckles kneaded his scalp, fingers twisted around hair and yanked. He didn’t know what he was doing, but with a gasped instruction from time to time and his tireless effort, her misgivings briefly slipped away.

Wisely, he sucked only the tip, at least smart enough to know that he’d choke if he attempted to swallow the cock up to its root. His dominant hand continued to pump her with increasing vigor, and his other one explored her lower body, caressing her thighs, fondling her scrotum, traveling along her taint to rub her sphincter in rapid circles. When his finger ventured up her ass, she slapped his arm away and rammed her cock hard down his throat so he’d really get the idea that she wasn’t into butt stuff.

Lucio let out a muffled cry, and she found herself grinning sadistically. He had to be put back in his place; he had to learn that he was not in control of the situation anymore. She seized a clump of his hair and cupped the back of his head, firmly pressing his face against her groin. When his teeth dragged against her skin as she pulled out and slammed back in, she hardly registered the discomfort. Her tip struck the back of his throat once, twice, thrice, and elicited another stifled groan from him. He hung limply from her iron grasp, lips parted wide to accommodate her thick, unforgiving cock. He had utterly surrendered his dominance, and she finally let herself indulge.

Only a few thrusts later, she came into his waiting mouth. Reeling from the explosive orgasm, she was only distantly aware of him gagging and spitting out the fluid. The whole experience had been a regrettable one, more so now than ever as she noticed how hot he looked on his knees with his hair all messy from her tugging.

“You’ve never done that before, have you?” she said once he seemed to be satisfied with the lack of cum in his mouth. Leaning against the wall, she pulled up her boxers and zipped up her pants.

“No,” he murmured, raising his head to look at her in a submissive way that deeply contrasted his attitude when he’d first cornered her in the bathroom. God, she liked that.

“Dammit,” she said for no apparent reason. She had royally fucked up by letting this happen. It had been bad enough already, but now they’d just sealed the deal. “Fuck,” she muttered again. “How are we gonna face Travis?” She looked at him in the mirror, unwilling to address Lucio himself.

He got to his feet. “It’ll be fine,” he reassured her. It took her a moment to notice that he was tentatively reaching around her waist again, pressing himself against her and grinding. He’d gotten a hard-on somewhere along the line, but that wasn’t her problem. Slowly, he leaned in to catch her mouth with his.

“No,” she said firmly. The blowjob had been one-sided. She was not ready to reciprocate his affection. Although a staunch believer that it was weak to refuse a kiss to someone after they’d given you head, she used it as an excuse. “I don’t want to taste my own cum, thanks.”

“Sorry,” he said. Somehow, this caused her even more pain than when he’d bitten her dick earlier while he’d also been apologizing. The whole cornering-her-in-the-bathroom thing had been kind of creepy, but she would’ve readily accepted his offer of sex if there hadn’t been any reason to keep their relationship professional. 

Well, and if she hadn’t been so afraid of getting close to people, and all that shit, too.

Beyond the confines of the bathroom, a door opened, and they heard Travis finishing up his call. “Uh. I think I’m gonna clean that up,” Nat said, and pointed to the mess of bodily fluids on the tile floor. “You… you still have a lot of work to do tonight. You’d best start on that.”

He hesitated, but she yelled another “Go!” at him, and he left, still shooting her that smoldering, longing look he’d had before, though now she detected a hint of sadness in it as well. In her life, Nat had had many what the fuck moments, and this was surely one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please no one else use the phrases "traitorous member" or "thick unforgiving cock" in their erotica


	3. Well of Souls Scene 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> f/f dubcon... lol no it's more like noncon because Odesia is a piece of shit. In the larger context of the novel, some characters have the ability to sense others' emotions, so there are some references to that. Text has been edited so it makes sense as a one-shot.

Asta guided Ingrid to Odesia’s quarters. The Lord Empress Odesia waited indifferently, clad in a bathrobe and brushing her hair in front of a mirror. It was still morning, and Ingrid hadn’t realized. Not that she cared. There wasn’t room to give a fuck about such a trivial revelation.

“How pleasant to see you again, Ingrid,” Odesia said flatly, without looking away from her own reflection.

Ingrid had already decided to abandon all formality. “The fuck you want from me?” she spat.

“I want you to tell me how long you’ve been fucking Ian the mailman,” Odesia replied, unperturbed. She bestowed upon Ingrid the honor of a single, fleeting glance.

The truth was that Ingrid didn’t remember, so she said, “There’s no point to such a question. I did it once, isn’t that enough for you to throw a fit about it? Now let me ask you something.” She barreled through it before Odesia had the chance to interrupt. “What’s my punishment going to be?”

“I’m glad you asked, Ingrid.” She let the words hang in the air for a long moment as she finished brushing her hair. When she met Ingrid’s defiant gaze, she didn’t appear pained like before, but instead a hardened malice glinted in her eyes. She set the brush down and beckoned Asta over to the bed. 

Without Asta holding her up, Ingrid stumbled. It was a miracle she was standing, really. A miracle that she was alive at all, not that she felt particularly blessed to be breathing at the present moment.

Odesia seated herself on the edge of the bed. Ingrid knew what that pose meant without a word having to pass between them, without Odesia having to open up her robes first. Asta knew too; she knelt and began servicing her.

“How does this make you feel, Ingrid?” Odesia asked in that soulless monotone of hers. Like Asta was a pet, she languidly stroked her hair as the girl worked, face buried between Odesia’s spread legs.

Ingrid felt nauseous. The fucking nerve of this woman — making her watch this, intending to hurt her — and the sheer pettiness of it. Odesia let out a quiet little moan, hands clenching in Asta’s hair. Ingrid was almost too sick to be furious — almost. She would’ve loved to lunge at Asta, tear her away from the woman who should’ve been hers, and she hated that she felt that way. If there was anyone here whose throat she wanted to rip out, it should’ve been Odesia’s.

She couldn’t reply, so Odesia went on. “People who try to keep secrets from me don’t get away with it. I don’t appreciate that you seem to harbor feelings for this man. And I certainly don’t appreciate that you slept with him.”

“And?” Ingrid prompted. Odesia pressed more firmly on the back of Asta’s head, fingers still tangled in her hair. Her eyes fluttered shut, an expression Ingrid knew all too well. “So what if I wanted to be with someone who’s not you? You’re unfaithful to me all the time, and you never take care of my needs. Why can’t I sleep with someone else who will satisfy me?”

She was pretty amazed that she’d managed to get that many venomous words out without either her dizziness or Odesia striking her down first, but what the Lord Empress said next confirmed her worst suspicions.

She smirked, a sudden clarity in her eyes breaking through the hazy bliss of her pleasure. “Because you live to serve me, Ingrid. You are my property.”

She expected to be incensed, enraged, infuriated, to overcome her nausea and end things once and for all — whatever that meant doing — but it struck a blow to something deep inside her. Distantly, she noticed a tear slide down her cheek, her lip wobbling, but it didn’t fully register. There was only Odesia relishing in the reaction she’d inspired, and Asta below her, eating her out.

“If you can accept that, then perhaps I will consider taking you back. As fine a job Asta is doing right now—” she punctuated it with a moan, and her breath hitched “—you’ve always done it better. If it’s you, then I could even consider being exclusive. How is that for a compromise?”

If that was what it meant, she found herself thinking — if that was what it meant to have Odesia all to herself, and not to feel the churning, writhing hatred she felt towards Asta right now — then was it so bad to renounce her own independence — her own identity?

She cast her gaze down, unable to look any longer at her master. Odesia’s legs clamped around Asta’s head and her breathing grew heavier. Very slowly, and in a way that could’ve been easily mistaken for nothing at all, Ingrid nodded once.

“You will take me up on my offer?” Odesia asked, and Ingrid nodded again, this time with a vague semblance of certainty, tears streaking her face. “A very wise decision, providing your other options. Asta, leave.”

Asta stopped pleasuring her at once and clambered to her feet; Ingrid, meanwhile, needed no instruction. Reluctance made her movements sluggish, but she stripped off her clothes, knowing that Odesia liked to play with her tits while she ate her out. 

“Finish the job,” Odesia commanded, but she barely heard it as she dropped to her knees before her master. The familiar taste of Odesia’s cunt filled her mouth, and she loathed it as much as she’d missed it. Odesia was already soaked, likely both from her own arousal and from Asta’s spit. Ingrid found her clit quickly, and Odesia let out a shuddering breath, the words “good girl” barely audible.

Ingrid nearly screamed into Odesia’s cunt right then and there at the sound of the pet name she so despised, but she redoubled her efforts, jamming two fingers into Odesia’s hole. She convinced herself to buy into the illusion of control, the belief she knew was false that she held power over Odesia like this, had her at her mercy when she was crying out and begging for release. The fingertips caressing and circling her nipple turned to a hand squeezing her breast. Thighs clenched around her head and Odesia’s hips bucked at her touch as she tried to get Ingrid’s fingers as deep inside her as she could.

Odesia started to radiate a dark anger, one that monstrously swelled and grew without any warning. Her legs went slack and pulled away, and she hoisted Ingrid up onto the bed to position her on her hands and knees. “I don’t take care of your needs, is that what you think?” she hissed, discarding her robe and kneeling behind Ingrid on quivering legs. “You’re going to regret saying that.”

“I’m, I’m sorry,” Ingrid wept, not even sure for what she was apologizing or if she meant it. Unaware of how much she’d been crying even while she’d been eating Odesia’s cunt, she brought a shaking hand to her face to find that it glistened with tears and her master’s fluids.

“Oh, you’re not sorry yet,” Odesia said. “But you will be.”

Odesia slapped Ingrid’s bare arse, and Ingrid let out a sharp cry. She expected more spanking, but instead, Odesia forced a finger inside of her. One quickly became two, three, four. Odesia was used to lying back and letting her servants work rather than taking the active role, which meant that Ingrid could count on one hand the amount of times that Odesia had actually attempted to pleasure her. Usually she’d finger her to get her excited, but it was more painful than anything considering that Odesia didn’t keep her nails trimmed.

“Pl… Please stop, I’m s-sorry,” Ingrid begged. Odesia’s claws jabbed at her insides, venturing deeper and deeper with each thrust. The nails curled up, and she tried to pull away from the intrusion. Odesia had fit her whole fist into Ingrid, stretching her wider than she’d ever been. 

Beyond her own pain, all she could sense was her master’s raw rage at her betrayal. She let her mouth hang open, her vision blur, and tried to pretend that she wasn’t here, but Odesia’s anger was so overwhelming that it clouded her mind and forced her to remain rooted in the present. It was really a wonder that the fury didn’t infect her and drive her from her submission, but she stayed passive, stayed resigned. 

She barely noticed another finger shove into her arsehole until it became more painful than the fist in her cunt. Liquid was trickling from some wound that Odesia was inflicting, the sensation of fluid on her skin barely noticeable amidst the rest of the agony. It felt like something was tearing, that she was too full to take any more of Odesia inside of her.

Odesia shoved with both hands in synchrony, power growing with each rhythmic thrust. Ingrid’s legs gave out, and she collapsed onto her stomach. This didn’t stop Odesia, who simply repositioned her with her arse in the air, hands still inside Ingrid the whole time. Ingrid grabbed feebly at the bedsheets, hoping that her body would give in and she would black out already.

She hadn’t been hearing her own screams, but finally, one of them broke into her foggy, failing awareness. It was then that Odesia halted, and Ingrid waited fearfully for her to start up again, but she pulled out, squeezing another pained cry from her. 

Odesia rolled her over onto her back. Her hands were covered in Ingrid’s wetness, blood, and flecks of fecal matter. With an impassive coldness, she stared down at her. Anger simmered behind her emotionless eyes, dimmer now than it had been during Ingrid’s punishment. There was no joy, not even complacency at seeing Ingrid so broken. 

Odesia never emitted any joy, anyhow.

“Tell me what you are,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered like it was the only thing she could say.

“I know that you’re sorry,” she scoffed, “but I need to hear that you know your place.” She brushed some hair out of Ingrid’s face with one filthy hand while pain radiated out in shock waves to the rest of Ingrid’s body.

“I live to serve you,” she choked out. “How could I have ever thought anything else?” Sobs wracked her chest and she reached out to touch Odesia. She was so beautiful, always so beautiful, especially right after they had sex. At her most vulnerable, her most human.

It seemed like the opposite of that now — that she was at her harshest, her most callous — but she wasn’t. She was acting like this because she loved Ingrid, couldn’t bear the thought of losing her. Ingrid blocked out the swarm of thoughts that came to disprove this idea, and simply basked in the glow of her empress.

But Odesia batted her hand away as soon as Ingrid’s fingertips grazed her cheek. “You don’t deserve a second chance. Be very grateful that I am giving you one.” She threw a robe at Ingrid. “Put this on. Asta will bring you to your new quarters.”


	4. Underground Empire Scene 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> m/f, non-con. This was meant to just be a death scene but it had some sexual content too, so I thought I'd include it in Excerpts. It takes a little while to get going and it's a bit more twisted than the other stuff I've posted so far. Maybe some of y'all will like that. Text has been edited so it makes sense as a one-shot.

Night had fallen. The rosy glow of the lamps shone through the windows of the house, and the muffled laughter of its residents filtered down to where the path merged into the clearing. 

Where Maika waited.

Maika ran a finger down the blade of her little knife, a delicate, light touch that just barely gave her a sense of its sharpness. She rarely had to steel herself before heading into the thick of things, but this was different.

Tonight she was going to kill Trake.

She strode briskly towards the house after her moment of gaining composure had passed, the cold biting her ears and nose. Entering, she shed her jacket and put the knife back at her hip. Trake was busy tonight, but it was too late in the day for him to go out. He’d been alone in an office space all afternoon, yammering away on the phone and furiously attacking his keyboard. Maika didn’t think she’d ever heard someone type so irritatingly loud.

She climbed the stairs and took the turn towards his room. When she heard only sporadic keyboard-pounding and off-tune humming, Maika raised her fist to the door.

It took a surprising amount of effort to make herself knock. Suddenly, she wasn’t feeling all of that confident. No enemy had ever gotten this close to the man — he had proven impossible to kill so far. He was always not one step, but five or six ahead of everyone else.

She steadied herself, and then rapped on the door twice.

Some of her fears faded when she was faced with him again, one on one, and some of them warped and refused to mesh with his appearance. He was the least intimidating person she could imagine — he was ugly, not in a mean-looking way either, and his short stature and rather feminine features were far from what she would’ve pictured when asked to imagine someone who commanded an underground empire.

“Oh, hey Maika,” he said, smiling for her despite the tough workload he’d been dealing with all day. He had headphones on over one ear, the other side shifted towards the back of his head so he could hear her.

But most of all, he was just a kid. There were countless people in their twenties still in school, still living with their parents, still trying to get their lives together, still trying to get taken seriously, and then there was Trake.

His smile faded when she stepped through the entrance without a response, and shut the door behind her.

“What’s… going on?” he said.

She had to decide if she was going to make this a quick kill or a long one. She felt pity for him, so maybe ending it quickly was the best course of action. And everyone knew what happened when you took your time. Invariably, Trake would find a way to cheat death.

“I heard that you found some old stuff online,” she said gravely. “About the things I did for people I used to worth for.” It was like a train switching tracks — the quick kill, so tempting before, paled when she considered drawing it out and extracting more information from him. Oh, how she yearned to make him pay for his sins.

“Yes, I did,” he said. An uneasy silence spread between them, and they locked eyes without talking for far longer than Maika would’ve liked. Finally, he spoke again. “It’s fine. That was the past, right?”

She found herself unwilling to respond. She was here to kill Trake, not to talk about herself. Her own tense attitude was cuing him in that something was wrong, and he appeared visibly unnerved.

“Well, either way… I wanted to ask you about some things I… found out,” he began timidly. “If you don’t mind.”

“Yes?”

“You used to work with Nat,” he said.

“We stopped talking years ago. I was simply helping her so she would give me what I wanted at the time. That’s why I have such a large network, because I used to need a lot of things. I haven’t maintained all of my connections because I don’t wish to associate with those people anymore.”

His shoulders sunk a little in relaxation. “That’s, that’s good to hear.”

She encroached on him slowly until he was within stabbing distance, and then decided that she had to up her game if she wanted to squeeze anything of value out of him.

His eyes widened when she laid longways on top of him in his rolling computer chair. Her weapons were on the side opposite to him, and with her close hand, she reached up to grab the side of his face, avoiding the neck by just enough to avoid completely terrifying him.

“Wh-what are you doing?” he stammered, yet he made no move to defend himself. She raised herself to block his view of her weaponized hip, which brought her close to his face. She could feel his exhalations on her cheek and catch the scent on his breath. She’d expected it to smell bad, but in reality it didn’t smell much like anything at all.

His words all ran together. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Do you want to let me look on your computer to see where you got that information?” she said. She grabbed him by the hair to pull him in.

“I’m, I’m logged in, you can see anything you want,” he stuttered. “What are you doing? Why are you looking at me like that?” he repeated frantically.

“I want to see your internet history,” she said. “I want to see every bit of information on that computer.” Her hand went to his neck and she clenched it tightly, lifting his jaw up. He wasn’t even fighting back. Fucking pathetic. “I didn’t want to share my past with you, didn’t you get the point? You invaded my privacy and violated my trust. Do you understand what you’ve done?”

“If you’ve cut ties with all those people,” Trake gasped out, “why is it so bad?”

She rocked back for momentum, and then forwards, the chair tipping over and Trake’s head smashing into the hard wooden floor. One hand was still around his neck, and the other was poised at her hip, ready to pull her knife.

“All right, all right, I’m sorry! Pl-pl-please let me go,” he begged.

Maika lowered her knee into his crotch. She hadn’t intended for it to be an incapacitating attack, but he took it surprisingly stoically anyway. It didn’t feel like he had much down there to begin with.

“Do you want to know what Nat would do to you?” she hissed.

“Please, no, I’m sorry, let me go,” he whimpered. God, why hadn’t he died sooner? In the back of her mind, she knew that it might be a ploy to get her to let her guard down. “Wh-why are you d-doing this?”

Maika shifted her attention to his waist. Her other knee ground his hand into the floor, and with a quick movement that left him no time to react, she grabbed ahold of his other wrist and twisted his arm until he cried out. Her fingers alighted on his belt buckle, and for the first time, he started to struggle and writhe beneath her.

She dropped onto his chest, pinning his arms, blocking his windpipe, and forcing the air from his lungs. His legs still thrashing, it took her a little while longer than she would’ve liked to free the belt. She placed it just out of his reach, and then rolled back to her original position. Finally, she tugged loose her pretty little knife.

“I never found out anything that shattered my trust in you!” Trake screamed from the floor. “So what if you knew Nat a long time ago? I believe you — I believe you when you say that part of your life is over!”

Too loud, she thought. Maika tore off her shirt and jammed it into his mouth. His arms went up, but without the fight fully in him, she used it as an opportunity to catch his hands, bend them behind him, and tighten the belt around his wrists.

“If you scream again, I won’t hesitate to slit your throat,” she said firmly, and carefully freed part of the bundled fabric from his mouth. Her left hand, free of the knife, snaked down to his groin area and teased the waistband of his pants, deciding if it was worth it.

“Look, Maika — you don’t want to have sex with me. I’m a pretty vanilla guy, you really don’t want this. You’re way out of my league. You could get anyone you want, it doesn’t have to be me.” He sounded like he was laughing nervously, but the cloth muffled it, and besides, he was beyond mere nervousness. He had been for a few solid minutes now.

“Flattery isn’t going to get you anywhere,” she said, and leaned to put more weight on his chest. Maybe she should just get this over with, as much as she wanted to hear him beg for his life and desperately give up all his secrets like a coward. She slipped her free hand into his pants and explored the region a bit.

“Maika — stop —”

“You’re going to give me that laptop so I can see exactly what you know about me,” she said.

“We did most of it — oh, never mind —”

“I think you’ll want to tell me everything. It seems like you don’t have much down there that’ll be fun for me to sever, so I’ll let you choose if you’d rather have me focus on your asshole or not.”

His voice raised about an octave and she noticed bright trails of water running from his eyes. “Please, please stop, I’m sorry for everything, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, just let me go and I’ll forget this ever happened —”

A sadistic grin came to her features. Yes, this was it. This was the pinnacle of her career — she had Trake at her mercy, his dignity gone, his status gone, and he was just a weak, scared child beneath her.

She unceremoniously shoved three fingers into his anus. He shut his eyes in silent pain, and she waited for him to look up at her before addressing him. “Is that your primary computer?” she asked.

“I have many,” he managed to articulate through the shirt stuffed in his mouth, his tears and shuddering breaths, and the agony apparent on his scrunched up features as her hand burrowed deeper into him.

She gave him a brief reprieve from the penetration and let her hand rest. “What does this one have on it?”

“It’s a new computer.”

She made a sharp jab further up his ass, and he let out a short, strangled yelp. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“It has most of my contacts. I’ve been doing research on it too.”

“Research on what?” she demanded.

“Things. That I learned about Nat.”

“Do you want to tell me what those are?”

“I… I don’t know…”

He had once again failed to answer the question, so he braced himself for the inexorable punishment that was to follow. Maika’s entire fist inside of him, she started to thrust violently. His whole body shifted back and forth and he could not even muster the strength to struggle, only cry out weakly through his gag in time with her motions. When these cries softened into whimpers, she stopped.

“Would you like me to do that with a knife next time?” she asked.

“Please, no,” he whined.

“Then answer my questions.”

He nodded, stifling a pained gasp as she pulled out. Maika wiped off her hand on the hem of Trake’s shirt without looking at what was on it. She ran the edge of the knife along his cheek, leaving a thin, bright trail of blood in its wake.

Something shifted beneath her, and a leg, a leg as graceless as a log struck her in the head. Confusion hit her harder than the blow itself, and it left her stunned for an instant too long. Trake was on his feet, panting in agony with every step he took, and Maika had turned around, out of her daze, by the time he’d reached the door.

Furiously, his hands were moving and working at the constraints that bound them together behind his back, and his head was down as he tried to dislodge the shirt from his mouth. He rammed his body against the door with an alarmingly loud thud.

No. This was what happened when you took too long. Maika was a fool — she had made a horrible mistake—

But the knife was in her hand.

The pretty little blade pierced Trake’s flesh with an anticlimactic thud.

Right in the back.


End file.
